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The Reluctant Dark Knight/Part 11
Please Note that only Numbuh 404 may edit this page. Broken Crowns King Gerard managed to climb the stairs into the tower and drew in an unsteady breath; Falla was still in his room, and he worried if she would be aggravated about him having left earlier. With Clockwork near his right ankle, he knocked on the door and said, “It’s me and Clockwork, Falla.” After a few moments, the locks clicked and it pulled away from him; just as he feared, she looked at him like he was a lowly street criminal. The little Smurf whirred, tugging his leg, so he reached out to take her hand, but her arms were crossed. With some coaxing, she relaxed and extended her right arm. He kissed the top of her hand lightly and tossed his crown onto the bed like he had done before. “I’m sorry I left you alone like that,” he murmured, “I was only trying to keep your safety most prominently in mind in case something serious had befallen the castle. I wanted to protect you, that was all.” He paused and caught her eyes as he added, “Can you forgive me?” With a subtle roll of the eyes, she accepted his apology rather begrudgingly. When he smiled, she withdrew her hand and brushed past him, standing in the doorway. She turned her head to see him and put her hand on the door. “Just this once.” As she closed the door with a firm jerk, she smirked and winked, and then descended the stairs while the king silently remained in his room. He blinked a few times before registering his advisor’s efforts to catch his attention. Clockwork told him something, which he seemed to dismiss, and then proceeded down the staircase after her. He hoped she would let him bid her farewell before she left with her friends. Halfway down, he slowed his pace and stitched his eyebrows together. “Where is Peewit…?” '. . .' “Peewit,” he whispered, “Peewit…” He nudged the boy to wake him up. It was dreadfully late, and although sleeping was preferable now, it wasn’t preferable right now. Eventually, his efforts paid off. “Hmm – is it morning yet?” “No,” he replied, sitting upright on his feet. Peewit rubbed his eyes and looked at him – all he could see was a silhouette at the moment. “Are we home, at least?” “I’m afraid not.” He shook his head and lifted one leg, resting his hand on his companion’s knee. “How long was I in here?” Peewit asked more angrily. “I can’t say,” he admitted, “Sorry, Peewit.” He stood only to bend over and scoop him up in his arms. “We’re going home now, though.” He straightened his back and leisurely exited the storage room with the boy’s head on his shoulder and his arms hugging his neck. “Peewit, is Falla still here?” “I dunno,” he replied, clearly tired, “I haven’t seen her in hours.” “That’s okay, I’ll find her.” He made his way to the drawbridge gate and met his horse; the beast was loyal to his owner, standing quietly and without objection to having the boy mounted to his saddle. A soft paw at the ground was his only motion. “What took you so long to find me, Johan?” He looked over his shoulder, having heard him while walking away. “I was tied up in other things.” Without another word, he jogged into the castle. Truthfully, his heart and head was constricted in a knot threatening to cut him short of life at any moment, and it was draining his energies rapidly. His footsteps echoed in the near-empty dance hall, and there was both Falla and his majesty sitting at the base of the stairs on the opposite side of the room. He approached with a low sigh, running his hand through his hair before meeting them. “It’s about time you got back, Johan,” the young lady mentioned unhappily. “Have you any notion of the hour?” Her frown subsided when she had a better chance to examine him; he was worn down in tattered clothing and seemed like he may collapse with any further conflict. He offered his hand, so she took it and was pulled to her feet; he could tell she was eager to get home. “My apologies, Falla,” he said almost in a whisper. He nodded to King Gerard before turning to guide her out to the drawbridge. “It’s been a very long night…” She agreed in a murmur and mounted Gentile as soon as she could reach her; Johan did the same with Bayard, and soon they were off with Biquette trailing them while he held Peewit in his lap. The journey home was as unpleasant as the waiting period had been while he was out, and the weather – clear and cool – seemed dismal. Two hours dragged along, and finally they retreated to their rooms. Johan offered to settle the animals into the stable and was relieved that Falla would do so for him, but he admitted he needed a moment alone. She took Peewit into the tower in the meantime – despite the previous tension between them, she bid him good night. “Sweet dreams, Johan.” “And to you,” he responded half-heartedly. She disappeared, so he brought the horses into their stalls, locked them, hung up the reins and saddles on the wall, and sighed as he pat Bayard’s neck. The stallion blinked and turned an eye to him. “I don’t know what to do, boy,” he whispered. He pricked his ears in his direction to listen. “How could I have been so naïve of their plan? How could I have let them slip by me when I was watching the drawbridge?” Johan paused to let his head hang for a minute before continuing. “I should have known that wasn’t Peewit when we first spoke – there aren’t even any daisy patches around King Gerard’s moat grounds! And I fell for it! Where was I in that moment? And then I let that despicable wizard pass me by as if he were transparent! Unbelievable…” He grit his teeth and lightly, but firmly kicked the stable door. Bayard snorted and reeled his head back in alarm, so Johan pet his neck. “Easy, boy, easy,” he comforted, “I’m sorry.” He paused again to cover his eyes with his hand as a wave of remorse drowned him. He held his breath until his stallion nuzzled his nose against his shoulder. “I know better than that, Bayard, I know I do. And yet I still acted lame in the moment.” He lifted his head a little and stroked the muscle of the steed’s neck which comforted both of them. Several minutes of silence ticked by, and with a heavy sigh he pulled away from him, adding, “Whatever happens tomorrow, I can only pray it won’t affect anyone I hold dear to my heart.” He kept his head down as he left the stable, fearing that the task Gargamel intended to bestow will involve just that. Once upstairs, he scanned the hallway, looking briefly at the doors: Peewit’s was closest to the staircase, next was a storage room for instruments, Falla’s just beyond that, a long gap of mortar and stones, and finally, his room all the way on the other side. As he travelled along the extensive rug, he decided to check up on his friends before turning in for the night – he silently opened Peewit’s door and saw him curled up in his bed facing the window. He cracked a smile, closing it again, and proceeded to Falla’s room further away. Again, he took caution opening the door, mostly because he wasn’t sure if she was already asleep or not. To his surprise, she was sitting on her bed and reading a scroll with a red stamp and a reading candle on the nightstand. “Hello,” she mumbled, glancing up at him. He nodded and stepped inside. “I don’t mean to disturb you, but I was wondering if we could talk.” She shrugged and agreed, putting the parchment down on the pillow beside her, and pulled her legs over the side of the bed. He took a seat next to her and slouched, resting his arms on his legs with his hands between his thighs. “You okay?” “I’m in a bind right now, so maybe you could tell me something that will lift my spirits,” he admitted, “And I’m sorry I wasn’t much help for you tonight. I was caught up in –” She rested her first two fingers against his lips and guided his face so she could see his eyes. She gazed into them for a moment. “You’re tense and anguished right now,” she stated almost in a whisper. His eyes darted down, back up to hers, and then he turned his head away. His black bangs covered them while the candlelight flickered, casting spirited shadows against his frame. “Talking would only bring up the pain, wouldn’t it?” “You’re right,” he murmured submissively. Suddenly he found himself pulled into a hug; such a noble embrace, too, because her touch was inviting and warm like that of a mother’s. She softened his rougher edges and wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek on her neck, knowing that in this grim, dark night, he sought out a light. What he found was a friend of compassion and understanding, even in his ruined uniform. “You are always welcome here,” she whispered, “We are family.” There followed a moment of silence, and his hug grew firmer as he drew in a breath, having been healed in spirit by such an endearing statement. Then, they parted and he took her hands, holding them between their chests with a few inches of distance. "Thank you." Then, he got to his feet and walked out the door, closing it behind him as he added, “Good night,” and she bid him the same. He made his way down the remainder of the hallway with his spirits somewhat rekindled. '. . .' In the Smurf Village, Papa was waiting up for his little Smurfs to return. In his red night robe, slippers, and a candle, he watched the skies and finally saw a speck of blackness against the starry night. It relieved him to find it was Feathers and his missing Smurfs. “Thank smurfness you’re alright,” he started, approaching them when the bird landed. “I was starting to smurf you were in danger.” He briefly thanked Feathers for helping them, and then led them back into the village. “It’s very late, so all the other Smurfs are sleeping.” “Oh, Papa Smurf, we have terrible news,” Clumsy said wearily. Papa looked at him and inquired for it, so he explained, “Gargamel and Scruple smurfed into the castle in disguises, so we couldn’t find ‘em for a long time. Then me n’ Greedy found Peewit in the kitchen –” “The humans’ pantry,” Greedy corrected. “Oh, yeah, that place – it was in the kitchen, though,” he continued, “and he was tied up in a sack, so we smurfed him out.” Papa was intrigued. “Then what happened, Clumsy?” “Uh, Peewit told us someone smurfed him on the head and smurfed him into the closet, but someone locked the door before we could get out,” he finished. “Someone trapped us, Papa Smurf. I’d smurf it was Gargamel.”